


Take Your Shirt Off

by Starsofgallifrey



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Ice, M/M, Massaging, Tending to Wounds, Trust, ed has lots of bruises, heh, hinted at nygmobblepot, jim wants to help, lotion, lowkey angst, riddlergordon, skin on skin contact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 15:59:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11016726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starsofgallifrey/pseuds/Starsofgallifrey
Summary: Edward Nygma visits Jim Gordon after he escapes from the Court of Owls, and Jim notices the bruises he received from the Court's guards the night he escaped with Penguin.





	Take Your Shirt Off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [edngyma](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=edngyma).



> The title of this is such a troll title tbh. This is for the lovely Danielle <3 (@edngyma)

There is a firm knock on the door and Jim sighs, setting down his bottle of whiskey before he even had the chance to pour some into his glass. He moves to the door, cracking his neck as he goes. It had been a long week, and it had only been a couple of days since Barnes had terrorized the GCPD.

 

Jim assumed Harvey was at the door, or hopefully not Lee looking to bite off his head again. Or bury him… When he opened the door he thought about slamming it shut again. Edward Nygma. Or… _the Riddler_ was standing only a couple feet in front of him.

 

Jim had heard the news about his escape with Penguin from the tantalizing grasp of the Court of Owls, but he hadn’t expected Ed to track him down, not _this_ soon anyway.

 

“Hello Jimbo,” Ed says politely. Jim holds back a groan and considers drinking his whole bottle of whiskey to induce alcohol poisoning.

 

“Do you even know what you’re risking being here Ed? With no weapon?” He was assuming Ed wasn’t hiding a gun or a knife anywhere on his person. Ed was always the type to hold it firmly in his hand at all times if he were to bring one.

 

Ed smiles and moves a step around him taking in the view of his apartment. “I haven’t been here before. The last time I was at your place…well I suppose it wasn’t _your_ place, was it? It was Ms. Thompkins, and her house had exquisite décor. Where is she anyway?”

 

Jim could tell Ed was trying to get on his nerves, his hands folded behind his back and a large smile spread on his lips. He had the decency not to show up in that god-awful bowler hat Jim had promised himself he’d burn if he ever saw it again.

 

“Been missing for days.”  


“Hmm.”

 

Edward looks around some more. “Very drab, very blue, very…” Ed trails off to wave his hands dramatically in Jim’s direction, “ _you!”_

“Just tell me why you’re here, Ed.” Jim says.

 

“I’m here to question you about the Court.” Ed responds with a twinkle in his eye.

 

Jim rolls his eyes, making his way past Ed to his whiskey. If he heard the words “Court of Owls” one more time he was certain he’d shoot something. He was too tired to take action while Ed was in his house. He knew Ed would find a way out of it if he arrested him now, and the city was worth much more than making sure Ed was locked back up in Arkham. Fortunately, he could tell Ed wasn’t in a hostile mood. He finally answers, “What about the Court?”

 

“Did you know what they’d do to me?” Ed asks, almost accusatory.

 

“Why, what’d they do to you?” Jim deadpans, taking a sip of his drink. Ed huffs closing in on him until their faces were only a few inches away.

 

“You know what.”

 

Jim narrows his eyes, trying to read the villain’s expression. It was what he had feared they would do to him, the thought that had haunted him for days after Ed was gifted to the court by his hand. “Did they try to kill you?”

 

“No! They locked me in a cell. And then proceeded to throw Oswald in the cell adjoining mine a few days later.”

 

Jim snorts.

 

Ed grunts angrily and turns back around. “You thought they were going to _kill_ me didn’t you? Well played Jimbo, well played. You fooled me _twice_. You almost got what you wanted, but I guess I’m just too hard to kill.”

 

Jim blinks, vaguely remembering having a similar conversation with Oswald a few days back. Nevertheless, Jim felt a heavy weight lift from his shoulders. The Court hadn’t tried to kill him at least, but they could have and Jim had known that.

 

“I couldn’t sleep for days.” Ed looks at him puzzled. “I thought maybe they’d kill you. I thought maybe they wouldn’t. I wasn’t sure. Whenever I brought you up, the Court would brush me off. The thought of them, what they could’ve…well I guess it doesn’t matter now. You’re alive and well right?” he drones with another chug of his whiskey.

 

Ed’s lips curve into a straight line and his jaw tenses. For once in his life he seems speechless, Jim notes carefully. The detective has small hope he had reached the sliver of humanity left inside Ed. While he has him in this vulnerable state, he sets down his drink.

 

“Now Ed,” Jim starts trying his best to conjure up his bad-cop personality while he himself was at a very low point in his week. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t arrest you right now?”

 

Ed smirks, confidence instantly restored. “I think you have enough on your plate don’t you Jimbo?”

 

The words strike a chord in Jim he wasn’t expecting. He had far too many things on his plate. He watches Ed remove his bright green suit jacket and tie and lay them over his couch. Was he actually going to let him stay here for however long he wished? Yes, he would.

 

Jim can’t tell if he’s uncomfortable or in need of the company at this point. “I suppose you’re right,” he replies at last.

 

“As I always am,” Ed’s eyes flutter visibly at Jim’s validation. “And I think I’m also sharing a similar plate.”

 

“Is that why you’re here?”

 

“I’m in a bit of a rut,” Ed says after he sits down on the couch. Jim rolls his eyes at the criminal making himself at home in a _cop’s_ apartment. Either way, Jim sits on the couch across from him for the time being, drink in hand.

 

“Split ways with Penguin?”

 

Ed’s eyes sparkle with something Jim can’t seem to read. “I’m afraid so yes.”

 

“I can’t give you advice on how to kill him, Ed,” Jim grumbles, knowing the man in front of him far too well. Ed’s jaw drops in fake offense.

  
“Why would you even assume I’d …I mean. I do want... But, anyhow-” Ed shakes his head, pushing two trembling fingers to the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t matter! That’s not why I’m here.”

 

“Okay, Ed.”  Jim responds softly. He knows better than to push him.

 

Ed remains quiet and turns his head to gaze into the vacant fireplace in the middle of the living room. Jim watches him against his better judgement and finds his eyes lazily tracing down his neck and to his collarbone and-

_Oh._

 

“You’re bruised.”

 

Ed visibly tenses, fingertips twitching as he tries to compose himself. He doesn’t make eye contact with Jim. “What?”

 

“How did the Court treat you, Ed?” Jim asks, leaning forward on his elbows. Ed faces him with brown eyes blazing.

 

With a fake smile, he says, “Terribly.”

 

Jim feels a pang of guilt. He had prayed that they had just thrown Ed in a cell and at the bare minimum given him the right to basic human needs. Before he heard the news about Ed and Oswald he had hoped they were using Ed for a higher purpose, not wanting to think about him dead in some dumpster around Gotham city. It seems there was a _pair_ of bruises on Ed’s collarbone, purple and green tinged in color, and probably many more all over his body. Jim knew well that the Court didn’t do anything half-assed.

 

With a deep sigh, and a wave of inevitable regret, Jim gets up from his seat. Ed blinks and sits up to ask him where he’s going. “Stay there,” Jim grumbles.

 

The detective reaches the bathroom and digs around in the drawer under the sink.  Aloe Vera, he knew he kept some hidden around here somewhere. It was good for preventing infection and easing the tension around bruises. He also took a detour into his kitchen to grab some ice in a cup and grabbing a few old hand towels. Edward watched him maneuver around his house with a calculated gaze, eyes sharp as Jim walked back and moved in close to him. He sat beside Ed and twisted his arm in a mild gesture. “Face me.”

 

Ed surprisingly did as he was told, watching Jim carefully as he started putting a few cubes into the center of one of the towels and says, “Take your shirt off.”

 

Ed blinked, “I…what? Why?” Ed puts his arms across his chest protectively. Jim sighs, rubbing his temples with a free hand.

 

“You know me, Ed. I wouldn’t ask unless I had legitimate _professional_ intent.”

 

“I do know you,” Ed responds skeptically. He takes his time to unbutton his shirt and slide his arms nimbly out of it. There were more bruises than Jim thought. Many on the sides of his hips, and over his ribs. His shoulders and forearms had blemishes and Jim couldn’t help but finally notice a few under his pecs. Trying not to think too hard about the Court beating him to a pulp, he gives more orders.

 

“Lay back, but stay upright.” Ed does, letting his head rest on the cushion beneath him. His gaze doesn’t leave Jim and if Jim didn’t know better, he would have assumed the expression on his former co-worker’s face was one of fear.

 

He gripped the towel with the ice cubes in it, and pressed it gently first to the bruises on Ed’s ribs. Ed hisses uncomfortably.

 

“It hasn’t even been five seconds,” Jim says in amusement. “It’ll feel better after I’m done I promise.” A few moments later after moving the ice in gentle circular rotations, he grumbles to himself. “Why did they do this to you?” He doesn’t receive an answer.

 

Jim moves the ice up to his collarbone and Ed makes a small breathless sound, gripping Jim’s forearm for purchase. “It’s cold.”  If Jim had more restraint he would have removed the hand from his arm, but there was something comforting about the long trusting fingers wrapped around him.  He slowly moves the hand towel, watching mesmerized as the melting ice trails from the cloth and down Ed’s smooth creamy chest.

 

Jim moves it over a red blemish on the pectoral muscles. He doesn’t notice Ed’s breath hitch and the grip loosen around his forearm, but he soon realizes he was brushing the ice repeatedly over his exposed nipples. _Shit_. Jim had always been bad with men. He was one, and he still had no idea what affected them. After removing the ice from the area, he looked up apologetically to find Ed with flushed cheeks looking fixated on one corner of the living room.

 

The detective narrowed his eyes, but takes Ed’s arm in his, pressing lately for a few moments on each of the blemishes and bruises. “We don’t want _any_ of these getting infected Ed. God knows how much you’re running around the city causing destruction and mayhem.”

 

“And yet you still won’t arrest me,” Ed teases.

 

“You’ve just caught me on a good day.”

 

Jim hears something reminiscent of a whimper and he’s too afraid to look up. “Jim why are you doing this?”

 

The detective is at a loss. This was the last thing he ever expected to do; to aid and abet the Riddler of all criminals. But, he answers as truthfully as he can in the form of his honest guilt towards the situation. “They shouldn’t have done this to you, and…” he pauses.

 

“You seemed lonely.”

 

He earns a scoff. “I told you. I don’t have time for friends.”

 

“And yet you came all the way down here to see me, unarmed, knowing the risks involved. For a reason you’re clearly not supplying.”

 

“But you’re not a-”

  
“Not a friend. I get it, Ed.”

  
“No I …” Ed stops speaking when he seems to think better of it. Once Jim is finished with the ice, he rubs the other dry towel swiftly down his shoulders, chest, and stomach to dry him off.

 

“There’s none on your legs?” Jim knew there probably was, but he was asking this to see if Ed was even comfortable with him touching him there.

 

“No,” Ed says immediately.

 

Ed’s eyes are wide and glistening as he watches Jim cover his hands in lotion. The Detective scoots closer, knee bumping into Ed’s leg and the criminal tenses. “Relax.”

 

Jim rubs at his hips moving up to the sides of his stomach. He had always taken pride in his hands, big and firm. Lee and even Barbara had asked for massages at the end of particularly long days. With Ed’s slim frame, he was sure he was helping loosen up the swollen muscles at least a fraction. He made sure not to dig deeply into the bruises, only to relax the skin and muscle around them.

 

He watched Ed take uneven breaths as his hands moved up and up, then Jim heard another whimper. It sounded different this time. He looked up to see Ed crying, lips quivering, a tear streaming down his right cheek. Jim’s jaw dropped and he removed his hands instantly.

 

“Am I hurting you?”

 

Ed blinks a few times, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose again. “No, no,” he says with a barely there smile. “No you’re not. It feels _really_ good. I just…it’s strange. I feel normal. You didn’t have to do this.”

His thoughts are jumbled, Jim notes. The detective finds himself grinning despite himself. He considers Ed hasn’t had much… _pleasurable_ bodily contact in a long while. Perhaps what he was doing was too intimate, but he kept at it anyway.

 

Under his fingertips, he can start to feel Ed’s muscles relax. “You have strong hands,” Ed says in a whisper, scratching at the cushion absent-mindedly with a free hand. Jim smiles and squeezes more lotion onto his palms.

 

“I’ve been told.” He rubs and kneads his slim arms down to his knuckles, holding Ed’s hand softly in his before dropping it back onto the couch. “I’m done Ed you can put your clothes back on.”

 

Ed was almost trembling as he struggles to button up his white dress shirt, his face still pink. “You didn’t have to do that.”

 

“So you’ve said,” Jim replies, finding his way back to the dining table where the whiskey bottle was placed. He pours more into his glass. “A ‘thank you’ would have sufficed.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Jim turns around, Ed is standing behind him, fully dressed. “I won’t forget your kindness.” Jim finds heat rising to his own cheeks for some unknown reason. He clears his throat and averts eye contact.

  
“Uh, don’t worry about it Ed. Just be careful next time you try to go against the law. You know I won’t hesitate to arrest you.”

 

“Don’t worry detective. I’m going to keep Penguin’s death on a downlow.” Ed smirks at Jim’s jaw-slack expression and half skips towards the door, slamming it shut behind him.

 

Jim finds himself smiling. “He’s still the same.”

 

* * *

 

It had been weeks since the blood virus occurrence wracked the city. Jim finally had some free time to lounge in his apartment peacefully and try to ignore the troubles of his own personal life. As soon as he sits down on his old couch, the doorbell rings.

 

Grumbling, he drags himself up and to the door. When he opens it, no one is there. His eyes trail down to a container waiting on the welcome mat.

 

There is a letter on the top that reads “To Jimbo.”

 

_Heyo Jimbo,_

_This is a thank you gift for those weeks ago you helped me in a time of need. Oswald suggested we send you something as a token of our friendship. Enjoy._

_Sincerest apologies for the mishaps in our past, The Riddler and the Penguin_

Jim snorts and crumbles up the letter. Before throwing it in the dumpster a few feet away, he unfolds it and shoves it into his pocket for the time being. It was strange Ed and Oswald were on good terms again. He was certain Ed would have gone through with killing him; he wondered what changed.

 

He leans down on one knee, hesitating to open the box. It could be a bomb for all he knew. The box moved slightly and that’s when he realized there was holes in it.

 

Jim opened the lid to find a metal pot with a sticky note on it, and beside it…a rat? A live rat. He looked at the new note. “Fondue. I know you don’t trust me so give some to the rat first so you know I didn’t poison it. Also Oswald and I named it Ratty. Original, right?” He could only imagine Ed and/or Oswald running around the city trying to find a rat.

 

Ratty looks up at the detective, it’s nose twitching, and feet clinging to the sides of the pot. They had given him Fondue and a  _rat_.

 

Jim keels over as laughter racks his body for the first time in a long time.


End file.
